Phone Lines & Lies
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: In the mid-1950s, Sherlock and Molly share a party line and a mutual hatred for the other. When they finally meet, Sherlock tries to win her over by pretending to be someone else. Inevitably, he's found out. (Pulled from my collection of one shots, since it got too big)
1. The other side of the party line

_Based on the prompt by the lovely Buttercup59: 'Oh goodness, can I just say how much I love your Sherlolly fics. Anyway, if you're still taking prompts, I would love to see a Pillow Talk AU, Sherlock and Molly taking on the roles played by Rock Hudson and Doris Day. Thanks!'_

'He's absolutely insufferable!'

Mary rolled her eyes, but nodded her head in pretend sympathy as her friend ranted. They were sitting in the Watson's kitchen having tea while Mary's husband was out, something they started doing when they met at the teaching hospital less than a month previous.

'Heaven forbid something happen to me and I can't call for help!'

'Molly, don't you think you're being a _bit_ overdramatic?' Mary interjected.

Molly huffed and crossed her arms. 'No, I do not.'

'It's just a phone line.'

'No, it's a party line. And I got stuck sharing it with the world's only Consulting Detective!'

Mary choked on her tea. 'Oh, my god!'

'What?'

Mary waved it off. 'Nothing, sorry, just thought of something.'

Molly continued on as though there had been no interruption. 'Anyway, it's bad enough I have to share a line at all. But he's on it constantly, deducing the other side to tears or shouting or… or whatever!'

'Have you asked the phone company for a private line?'

'I'm on the list. They say the earliest I can get one is six months. Can you believe it? Six months listening to that great ponce go on and on, spouting out his brilliance until it makes me want to gag.'

Mary simply smiled into her tea.

* * *

That evening, as Mary stood over the stove, with her husband reading the paper at the table, she decided to casually bring up her conversation with Molly.

'I hear the phone company is starting to roll out private lines.'

John hummed in acknowledgement, turning the paper. 'Good. That will hopefully end Sherlock's incessant griping about the other half of his party line.'

She laughed lightly. 'Molly had the same complaint this morning.'

'Is that so?'

He was clearly not paying much attention. Mary quirked an eyebrow. 'The other side of hers is a shallow, narcissistic man with little regard for human emotion.'

'Really?'

'Apparently so.'

'Well,' John murmured and crossed his legs. 'Sherlock claims the other side of his is a childish, whiny woman who has nothing better to do than gripe at him for using the line.'

Mary bit her lip hard to keep from laughing. Several minutes passed as she stirred the sauce. Suddenly, she heard him fist the paper. She imagined he had a spectacularly surprised look on his face. Innocently, she turned around and smiled.

'Something wrong, dear?'

He stared at her, his mouth doing a wonderful impression of a fish. 'Molly… and Sherlock… they're…'

She sauntered over and patted his hand like a child. 'Yep.'

'Right.' He frowned in thought. 'Should we tell them?'

'Well, I was thinking-'

'Never a good sign,' John interjected.

She frowned and bopped him fondly on the head. 'As I was saying, I was thinking we _should_ introduce them. It's about time, anyway, that my best friend meets yours.'

'And have them kill each other?' He asked incredulously. 'Why not make it easier and just wait for one of Sherlock's clients to do him in?'

'Please, love? I've been wanting to get them together for a while, Molly's interested in all the quirky, socially unacceptable things Sherlock is. And he needs someone to rein him in once in a while, but keeps him on his toes intellectually. As far as we know, they don't know the other's first name. So they'll get to know each other over a meal, discover they have many interests in common, and be too smitten with the other that when the phone line issue is inevitably discovered, it won't make a difference!'

He sighed and thought for a minute. 'You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?'

She nodded eagerly.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he groaned. 'If something goes wrong and it all goes to pits, I'll put all the blame on you, you know.'

Bending down and kissing him firmly on the lips, she smirked. 'I know. But when have I ever been wrong?'

John grumbled and returned to his paper as Mary turned back to the stove. 'I sometimes envy Sherlock's bachelorhood.'

'I heard that.'

* * *

That Saturday, Molly and Mary sat in a booth at a quaint café, waiting for John and his friend while cradling cups of coffee. 'He's really quite the catch. Looks, wealth, intelligent.'

'Mary, please stop trying to sell him to me before I've even met him!' Molly pleaded in exasperation. She was really uncomfortable doing this, but Mary had pulled out all the stops: puppy eyes, begging, blackmail, threats, and her greatest weapon of all, John. One word about how his mate was an ideal fit for her and she caved. If anyone was a good judge of character, it was John Watson.

'They'll be here soon.' Mary glanced at the clock on the wall. 'Nervous?'

'I'm about to meet a stranger and go on a double date with him and my best friends. What's there to be nervous about?' Molly deadpanned, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her front. She had worn her best dress, a yellow sheath that never failed to lift her spirits. Her hair was pulled up in a simple updo and she wore minimal makeup, just enough to warm her usually pale features.

'You look fine,' Mary affirmed. She perked up as she glanced over Molly's shoulder to the door. 'And they're here!' The two stood and Molly turned to meet her date.

Her heart, already pounding in nervousness, beat triple time as she stared at the man walking in with John. Taller than average, he had black curls that fell boyishly over his forehead, his sculpted cheekbones and cupid's bow lips, while unconventional, were strangely attractive on his face. But his most arresting feature was his eyes, they were sharp and shone with a weary brilliance, their colors shifting in the light.

Molly shifted nervously as the two men stopped in front of them.

'Molly, this is my friend, Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Molly.' John waved a hand between them in introduction.

Sherlock simply nodded and accepted Molly's timid handshake, staring at her intently. He seemed somewhat familiar, but Molly struggled to place him.

The four sat down, Molly next to Sherlock and their friends on the other side.

'Molly is a medical assistant at St. Bart's teaching hospital,' Mary gushed as John and Sherlock waved the waitress over for coffee. Molly flushed deep red as her friend carried on. 'I'm surprised the two of you haven't met yet, what with you being there so often, Sherlock.'

 _Ah_. 'Actually, I have seen him around.' Molly turned to him. 'Though we've never been introduced.'

Something indeterminable flashed across Sherlock's face before he schooled his features into a careful mask and nodded.

When he said nothing, Molly turned back to her coffee and bit her lip. This wasn't going well at all. The man hadn't spoken so much as a 'hello.' She resisted the urge to groan at the thought of sitting for an entire date with someone who clearly wasn't interested.

'Sherlock works for Scotland Yard,' John offered with an encouraging smile. 'He's a con-'

Sherlock briskly cut him off. 'A consultant. I work in the accounting department.'

Molly blinked in surprise at the rush of words, but smiled kindly nonetheless. She didn't notice John and Mary exchange raised eyebrows.

* * *

Sherlock forced himself not to grimace. He had immediately recognized Molly as an employee at Bart's, had even seen the results of her work. She was brilliant, but her potential hindered by the pitiful excuse of her gender being so-called inferior. He had been working up the courage to approach her, but his logical mind always got in the way, reminding him that sentiment is a weakness.

Then when John mentioned his wife was good friends with the sweet nurse from the lab, he knew it was only a matter of time before they were introduced and his hand would be forced. This set-up was exactly what he had been hoping for.

But then Molly spoke. And he cursed whatever God sat in the sky, watching this fiasco with a smile on His face.

Of course it was her. Miss Hooper. The other side of his party line, he immediately recognized her voice. The woman who gave it as good as she got, with a fiery indignation on behalf of whichever client he'd inadvertently insulted. He inwardly grimaced at all the cruel deductions he had spewed at her in retaliation: pathetic, spinster, busybody, spineless… and so many others.

'Sherlock works for Scotland Yard.' Sherlock's eyes widened as John was about to lead him to the slaughter. 'He's a con-'

'A consultant,' he interjected quickly, forcing his voice several tones higher and adopting a slight northern accent. 'I work in the accounting department.'

He tried not to scowl at the look John and Mary shared at the obvious disguising of his voice.

Molly smiled. 'So what brings you to Bart's so often?'

'Errand boy,' he fibbed with a small shrug. 'Gets pretty boring sitting and calculating time cards, so I volunteer to run paperwork between the departments.'

'How interesting.'

Sherlock fought back a laugh at the subtly-forced politeness in her tone. She clearly was not interested in the pathetic life of a dull office boy with nothing better to do than be at the beck and call of his superiors. But she was kind enough to smile at him in encouragement.

She was as sweet as he thought and pretty in a plainspoken way. Unlike his previous paramour, Irene, Molly's beauty was subtle and in the details. The way her cheeks blushed in appreciation at his attention, her eyes alight with kindness, and the ready smile she gave freely.

His brother's voice sounded in his mind about the detriments of sentiment. And not for the first time, Sherlock discounted Mycroft's advice. He… liked Molly Hooper.

And perhaps… just perhaps… he could win her over as Sherlock before she found out he was Mister Holmes. It sounded ridiculous and it was likely to blow up in his face, but as he saw the kindness and intelligence in her eyes, he decided it was worth the risk.

He reached over and covered her hand.

'That's kind of you to say, but it's awfully dull, to be honest. I'd rather hear about your work. Is it true you're as brilliant as John and Mary say you are?'

John snorted into his coffee. Sherlock glared at him in reproach before turning a smile on the woman beside him. Her cheeks were rosy from his flirtations and she averted her eyes shyly under his gaze.

 _It may be easier to win her over than I thought._


	2. Mr Insufferable

Sherlock endured a withering lecture from John once they had bid the girls goodbye at the café and were in his flat on Baker Street. To be honest, he wasn't really listening as John ranted on about lies and not standing for it. Sherlock's mind was already racing with possibilities concerning the winning over of Molly Hooper's heart.

'We didn't want the both of you to find out you shared a party line _at first,_ ' John snapped as he paced back and forth in front of the thinking detective. 'But to _lie_ outright, change your voice and flirt? That's not you at all, unless you're undercover. So, what are you playing at, Sherlock?'

'She would have known me the _moment_ I spoke,' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Unlike you, she's not a complete idiot.' He pinched his fingers together and, in a rare moment of honesty, admitted, 'I have been meaning to court the elusive Doctor Hooper. But the revelation that she is also _Molly_ has thrown a wrench in my plans.'

John took several deep breaths, as he looked for any deception in Sherlock's admission. Not finding any, he pointed an angry finger at him and in a dangerously calm voice said, 'When this all goes to hell, Sherlock Holmes, _and it will_ , I will not be there to cover you. Molly is Mary's dearest friend, and I like her. I'll give you one week to tell her the truth before I do it for you.'

'One week?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow and scoffed. 'By then, she'll be so in love with me, the truth will hardly matter.'

* * *

True to his intentions, Sherlock had put in every effort to winning over the sweet nurse with a morbid streak to rival his.

Monday he sent a bouquet of calla lilies, her favourite, to her work and took her out to the café for coffees.

On Tuesday, he ducked into the lab when no one else who would recognize him would be around and brought her lunch. Over roast beef sandwiches, he winked at her and puffed in pride at the blush that darkened her cheeks. He left with the promise of dinner the next evening.

After dining at a charming restaurant that Wednesday, Sherlock offered his arm to her and together they strolled through the park under the pink-swept sunset sky. Molly began to feel more comfortable under his attention and spoke less hesitantly about her work and her life. With each admission, Sherlock felt his heart melt a little more. A slight pang hit him as he remembered his duplicity, but he brushed it aside. She'd understand his doubts that she'd give him a chance as Mr Holmes and she'd forgive him; that's the kind of generous, sweet woman she was.

So, why was he putting off telling her?

* * *

Molly danced around her bedroom, holding her blue dress against her chest and letting the skirt billow around her. The smile hadn't left her face since she'd met Sherlock; he was everything she'd dreamed the perfect man to be: charming, gallant, sweet, and handsome. Well, almost everything. He was a bit of a clumsy man and not as intelligent as she'd like, he rarely talked of his work and when he did, he seemed to be horribly bored by it.

But he made her feel important and desired. And her feet hadn't touched the floor all week.

And now, five days after they'd met, she was sure she was in love… well, on her way to it, at least.

She sighed happily and carefully laid her dress on the bed. Sherlock would be calling soon to tell her what time he would be picking her up for their night out dancing. Best make sure the line was free. She picked up the receiver and immediately rolled her eyes.

'…at the station at 6:10. They are expecting you to pick them up, William.'

'It's your turn to get them, I got them last time!'

'I have an important meeting with the American delegation, I cannot possibly get away.'

'Oh, come of it, Myc!' Mr Holmes snapped. 'You can send one of your minions instead!'

'I rather think not.'

'Myc!'

' _Billy_!'

'I had to interrupt this delightful conversation,' Molly interjected dryly. 'But I am expecting a call and, if you recall Mr Holmes, our agreement is that the evening calling hours are to remain mine.'

'I do apologize, Ms Hooper,' the other man, Myc, said with the smoothness of a politician. ' _Billy_ , I trust you will do as asked and I shall see you round Baker Street for our weekly chess game come Sunday.'

The speaker clicked as Mr Holmes' brother disconnected.

'Interesting how alike the both of you are, yet your brother has more manners than you will ever boast,' Molly snapped over the line.

Mr Holmes nearly growled over the line, clearly still disgruntled from his disagreement with his brother. 'Manners are a societal construct, ever-changing. What you perceive as 'manners' are, to those of us who do not need to conform to ridiculous customs, merely an impediment to our way of life. I do not desire to waste time 'making nice' just to appease someone like you.'

Clenching her teeth, Molly hissed into the phone with white-knuckled anger, 'Perhaps you would find others more accommodating were you to employ those manners you sneer at, instead of aggravating everyone around you into hating you!'

She slammed the receiver down in anger. 'Pompous prat!'

Within minutes, the receiver rang. Fully expecting it to be Sherlock, Molly took a calming breath and let the excitement of her date fill her up again. 'Hello?' She answered sweetly.

'Miss Hooper,' the familiar rumbling baritone broke over the line.

'What do you want, Mr Holmes?' She snapped, her anger returning full force.

He sighed and she swore she heard him fiddling with the cord. 'I wanted to apologize. My tone was… uncalled for.'

Molly blinked in surprise, her mouth gaping open. 'Oh? Oh, I-uh… thank you.'

'That being said-'

'Of course,' Molly mumbled and rolled her eyes. There was always a 'but' with him.

'-I stand by what I said. I see no reason for me to employ 'manners' as a way to ease the _feelings_ of those around me. Our lives would all be much more efficient were we to cease being so infernally offended by anything and everything one says to another.'

Her grip tightened on the receiver. 'Perhaps that is your opinion. But I happen to disagree. Manners are a basic common courtesy. Why should I suffer a bad day simply because it is slightly inconvenient to you?'

He scoffed over the line. 'If you take offense at every little thing, then that is your issue. Not mine.'

'Mr Holmes, we seem to be of equal stubborn, yet opposite minds. I see your point of view, but refuse to accept it as my own. And you obviously feel the same, so let us save us both time and frustration and agree to simply disagree.'

'I would be agreeable to that arrangement-'

Molly sighed in relief.

'-if you weren't insistent on being in the wrong.'

She gripped her hair in anger and whirled around, the cord winding around her torso. 'Ugh, you are… such an insufferable, arrogant prat!'

'I should take offense at that, but you are simply expressing an opinion. Which I wholeheartedly agree with you upon.'

'Then you'll agree that this conversation has no end in which either of us comes out on top. So, I shall bid you a _good_ evening, Mr Holmes. I hope it's as insufferable as you.'

Once again, she slammed the receiver down. When Sherlock called a few minutes later to inform her he was on his way, she tried to keep the frustration from her voice, but his reserved tone at her somewhat short replies wrapped her in guilt at failing.

* * *

Sherlock brushed imaginary wrinkles from his suit jacket as he waited for Molly to open the door. After the call between Mr Holmes and Molly earlier that evening, he'd been wracked with guilt. She'd never forgive him for his deception, not when he'd treated her so abominably on the phone and lied to her about who he was. The bouquet of roses in his hand wouldn't soften the blow, but it was worth a try.

He would tell her tonight. Get it over and done with and _pray_ that she forgive him, give them a chance as Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper; the socially-inept detective and the morbidly-sweet nurse. Not the consulting 'accountant' and the woman who hated the other side of her party line.

He gulped as he heard her soft call of 'coming' from the other side of the door.

The moment the door swung open, any words he'd prepared flew right out an open window in his Mind Palace. Clothed in a sultry dress of midnight blue, Molly was breathtaking. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and shimmered in the light, as did her luminous brown eyes that widened in delight at the flowers he thrust toward her.

'Oh, they're beautiful, Sherlock!' She took them and buried her nose in their soft petals. 'Mmm, wonderful. Thank you! Come, I'll put them in a vase.'

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into her flat. He followed dumbly, staring at the curves under the luscious fabric swirling around her body. His mouth ran dry when she looked back and smiled at him.

How could he possibly destroy whatever chance he had with this amazing woman?

'So, which club did you decide on for tonight? I'm feeling rather energetic, so nothing too smokey and jazzy.' She giggled as she filled the vase with water and carefully arranged the roses into an artful display.

When he didn't respond, she turned back to him with a frown. 'Sherlock?'

He blinked out of his daze and instinctively reached out for her hand, pulling her toward him.

'Oh!' She laughed as she was crushed against him, his arm across her back holding her to him and her hands pressed against his chest.

'You, Molly Hooper,' he growled in his natural baritone, 'are much too distracting.'

A deep blush darkened her cheeks and down her chest. 'Th-thank you.' Her levity faded under his intense stare, but he couldn't fight it. He knew once she learned of his deception, he would lose her. And his fear dampened any happiness the evening might elicit.

'Molly…' He brushed back the strands of hair that had slipped over her shoulder. She shivered at his touch, staring up at him in surprise and more than a hint of uncertainty. 'You are… more beautiful to me than I will ever be able to express in simple words.'

Molly's eyes softened at his words, but she still bit her lip, as though uncertain of his sincerity. 'That's…s-sweet of you, Sherlock,' she whispered with a forced smile.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. 'You don't believe me.'

'It's not that… I've just…' She sighed and looked down as she hesitantly confessed, 'I've never really been the beautiful type. I'm too morbid, too plain, with practical fashion sense that comes across as atrocious.'

Sherlock tightened his grip on her and tilted her chin up until she looked back at him. Her admission angered him; that anyone could make her feel so insecure about herself. She was sweet and generous, passionate and eloquent when angry, compassionate and understanding. And the things she did to him in that dress.

'Beauty is simply a construct of societal expectations, ever-changing. Everyone has their own idea of beauty.' Not realizing his slip of the tongue, he cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, his heart skipping a beat when she turned her face into his hand. 'To me, you are the epitome of the word and far exceed any expectations I could ever have fathomed.'

Molly melted at his words.

Slowly, she raised herself up, as he lowered his face closer to hers. Her lips were scant centimeters from his when she suddenly froze.

His heart stopped when he saw realization slowly dawn on her face.

'Societal… construct…' she murmured in thought. Her eyes raised to his in horror. 'M-mister Holmes…?'

 _Damn._ 'Molly, I-'

'You're Mr Holmes.' She jerked out of his arms and stepped away, tears of humiliation filling her eyes. 'Oh my god, I'm the biggest idiot in the world!'

'No, Molly, please, let me explain,' he beseeched her, his hands reaching out to her as she turned away.

'This was all just a game to you, some prank to play... changing your voice, being sweet and romantic...' she accused quietly.

'It was never a prank, Molly… please…'

Just as his fingertips brushed her shoulder, she flinched and whirled about. He blanched at the tears falling from her hurt-filled eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and felt his heart clench painfully. 'Leave,' she whispered, her voice wobbling.

'Moll-'

'Please, just go.' She placed her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking slightly before she straightened up purposefully and walked over to her door, opening it in silent demand for him to leave.

He stared at her for a minute, feeling his heart crumble in on itself at her hurt and rejection. Pulling what was left of it together, he walked past her, seeing the tears coursing down her cheeks from the corner of his eye, and into the hall. He whirled around to beseech her once more, only to have the door slammed closed in his face, punctuated by a muffled sob from the other side.

 _Well, John. You were right._

 _It's all gone to Hell._


	3. Mad, Miserable, and Missing Each Other

_AN: The third, AND FINAL, installment in the Pillow Talk AU series requested by the lovely buttercup59 ! Whew, was this a biggun', y'all! I hope it's all you wanted and more! Though I'm not entirely happy with this and may return to fix it in the future, I am satisfied that it is a proper ending for now. :)_

* * *

'Molly, don't you think you ought to listen to him? Give him a chance to explain.'

Almost a full week had passed since Sherlock's deception had been revealed, and thus Mary and John's hand in it, and Molly finally agreed to meet with Mary. The café was quiet that morning as the two friends sat across from each other, one angry and hurt, the other regretful and determined to fix the mess she'd helped create.

Molly shook her head firmly and tilted her chin up defiantly at the pleading Mary across from her. 'No. I look at Sherlock Holmes like any other disease. I've had him, I'm over him, and now I'm moving on.'

Mary's brow furrowed in worry. 'You don't mean that. I've never seen you as happy as you were with him-'

'I wasn't with _him_ ¸ though, was I?' Molly cut across her angrily.' And don't think for a moment that I'm not still absolutely _furious_ with you and that husband of yours for your roles in this fiasco!' Pointing her finger accusingly, Molly momentarily relished the look of hurt of Mary's face before immediately feeling guilty. As hurt and humiliated as she'd been, she knew deep down that Mary and John hadn't intended to set her up to be played. Her anger dissipated and she sighed. 'Let's just forget the whole thing, okay?'

Although her brow was still furrowed in worry, Mary nodded in agreement and they settled into a stilted silence.

* * *

John huffed and placed his hands on his hips as he stared at the pouting detective, curled into a ball on the couch.

'You've got to move off that sofa, mate. The world still turns, crimes are still happening, and burying your head in the sand isn't going to make it stop.'

Sherlock glowered at him over his shoulder before burrowing deeper into the leather.

'Sherlock,' John snapped in his commanding officer tone. 'Get your lazy arse off that sofa and, for God's sake, take a shower!'

'Sod off!' Sherlock shouted into the sofa.

'No!' John shouted back. 'I can't stand to see you like this! Molly's just as miserable and if you wanted to, you could make this right. But you can't do that smelling like the inside of a bin!'

At the mention of Molly, Sherlock whipped his head around. His eyes were sunken and rimmed red. 'She's miserable?' He asked in a strained voice.

John sighed and dropped into his chair. 'Of course she is. She's miserable, mad, and missing you, though she won't say it. She won't say anything, actually. She's just as mad at us as she is at you.'

Sherlock swallowed thickly and looked up at his friend, hope in his eyes. 'Do you… do you think she'll forgive me?'

The doctor paused. He knew Molly only from her friendship with Mary, but the nurse was a sweet, kind soul. The idea of her holding a grudge against anyone seemed too unlike her. Shrugging one shoulder, he admitted, 'I don't know. But the real question for you is, is she worth winning back?'

It was Sherlock, now, who hesitated. But not in indecision. No, the moment John spoke the last word, Sherlock's eyes narrowed and his racing thoughts came to a full stop. Yes. Unequivocally, yes.

Now, how to go about it wooing his way back into her good graces, and her heart?

'Woo hoo!'

They turned to see Mrs Hudson, Sherlock's landlady standing in the door, a tray overflowing with tea and digestives in her hands.

'Hello, John dear,' she greeted him with a smile and bustled over to set the tray on the coffee table. 'How's Mary?'

'She's well, thanks for asking, Mrs H. And how are you?'

She patted her hip with a wry smile. 'Oh, just the usual pains.' With a cheeky wink, she pointed at Sherlock, who was now deep in his Mind Palace. 'This one more than the hip.'

John chuckled and kissed her cheek. 'Well, I'll just be off. I've done all I can.'

Mrs Hudson patted his cheek fondly and watched the good doctor leave before turning to her tenant with a sigh. The man slowly drifted out of his thoughts, his eyes focusing up on her. She smiled at the softness in his expression and the almost-childlike innocence that shone from his eyes.

'Mrs Hudson, you're a woman,' he stated.

'I believe so,' she chuckled and sat down across from him.

He sat up and leaned on his knees, staring intently at her. 'How would one go about courting a woman? Specifically, a woman who is… rather angry at one?'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Would this rather angry woman be that darling nurse Mary is friends with? The one whom you tricked?'

A shamed flush stained Sherlock's cheeks as he averted his eyes under her disapproving gaze. 'She might be.'

'Oh, Sherlock.' She shook her head and helped herself to a spot of tea. As she stirred the milky liquid, she said, 'You've bollocksed it up quite nicely, if you'll pardon my language.' She winked at him and he smiled. 'It'll take more than a bit of wooing to fix this mess.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'You've been eavesdropping on my phone calls, haven't you?'

'I most certainly have not!' She declared indignantly. 'If I happen to bring you a spot of tea in the evenings and you're occupied on the telephone, I hardly think it would be considerate to interrupt. And if I happen to hear snippets of a conversation while walking back downstairs, I can hardly be called an _eavesdropper_.'

Shaking his head, Sherlock rubbed his face and admitted defeat. 'Fine. So you know what's happened. Now, help me fix it.'

'Well, in my experience, a heartfelt gift doesn't often go amiss. What does she like?'

'Cats.'

Mrs Hudson pursed her lips. 'Hardly sensible. What else? A gold locket, perhaps.'

'She's intelligent and practical, so any frippery womanly trinkets will be discarded,' he mused. 'She'd have more use out of… oh! Oh!'

His eyes lit up in inspiration and he leapt to his feet. 'Oh, it's perfect!' Kissing her cheek with a resounding smack, Sherlock fled Baker Street in a bevy of triumphant shouts. Mrs Hudson stared after him in amused surprise. Standing, she picked up the tray and made to leave, only to find her tenant bounding up the stairs once more, shrugging off his dressing gown with a growl and stomping into the washroom.

Fifteen minutes later, as she was washing up the dishes in her own flat, she heard him hurtling down the stairs once more. She peeked out the door in time to catch sight of him flinging open the door and rushing out, his damp curls flicking droplets of water behind him, some of them darkening the collar of his wool coat. She smiled to herself and returned to her chore. That deep purple shirt with the tight black waistcoat was going to make it very difficult for Molly to not forgive him.

* * *

Monday morning, ten minutes after arriving at work, Molly shouldered her way into the lab, her arms filled with files and paperwork from various doctors. She dropped them unceremoniously onto the table and pulled a stool over, intent on making a dent in the pile before lunch. While studiously not thinking about the man that had been in her thoughts for nigh on three weeks. Nope. Not thinking about him, or the way his curls fell into his eyes, or the way he smiled and made her go weak at the knees, or the way he listened and laughed at her uncomfortably morbid jokes.

Nope. Not thinking about him _at all._

She dropped her head atop the papers and groaned. Who was she kidding? He was all she had been able to think about. But did she know _him_? Or the person he was pretending to be?

Picking up her pen, she shook her head and commanded herself to focus. She was a capable woman who didn't need to dwell on romantic daydreams when she had duties to complete. She straightened and opened the first file to begin.

But before she had even uncapped the pen, a flash of yellow in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She glanced over to see a wrapped box sitting on the far bench, a large white bow decorating the top. Curious, she walked over to it and was surprised to see her name written on heavy paper in a neat, though somewhat scratchy, hand.

Knowing she should probably wait for whomever had left it for her, curiosity got the better of her, and Molly unwrapped the yellow package and lifted the top from the plain box underneath. Her blood ran cold as she pulled out a white lab coat. The fabric was heavy, but not restrictive, clearly the same material as the coats of the best doctors in Bart's. Her heart stuttered when her gaze fell on the elegant, professionally-done stitching across the left side, just above the pocket.

 _Dr M. Hooper_

'Molly.'

She jumped at the voice and looked up to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. His face was hidden in shadow, but for a small sliver of light that illuminated the sharp edge of his cheekbone. It had been almost three weeks since she'd seen him, and her heart was still torn between running toward him or turning away.

'What is this?' She whispered harshly.

'A gift. Or at the very least, an offering of peace.'

He took a hopeful step closer, but froze as he read her body language. Her eyes were wide and bright, but not with happy tears as he'd hoped. Instead, anger and hurt flared from the brown eyes he adored. Her hands fisted the coat and he could see the rising flush in her cheeks.

'Another joke, Mr Holmes? One would think you'd have learned your lesson by now.'

Sherlock gaped at her, his brow furrowed in disbelief. 'It wasn't anything of the sort, I merely wished to-'

'To remind me that I'm fighting a losing battle against society's standards, to rub it in that as a woman I'll never be more than a lackey for the 'real' doctors?' She bit out bitterly. How dare he mock her! After all he had put her through; the callous phone conversations, the lies and manipulation of her feelings, and now the mockery of her low social status as a woman!

He snapped, 'Of course not! Why ever would I do that? This is a gift for you to use when you finish your medical training!'

'My… what?' Molly froze, sure she heard wrong.

Shrugging in an attempt to appear nonchalant, Sherlock said, 'My brother holds a… somewhat minor position within the government. I spoke to him about your desire and qualifications to pursue a career as a doctor. It cost me quite a number of future favors, but he agreed to speak with the board here at Bart's.'

Molly held the coat against her chest, feeling the thundering of her heart.

'Once you've completed your training and residency, and passed within reasonable expectation, the board has unanimously voted to offer you a position in the pathology department here at Bart's.'

Was there air in the room? Molly tried very hard to concentrate on the exercise of breathing, but found it to be quite difficult. 'You… you did that? For me? I'm going to be a doctor?'

'If you so choose,' he replied with a brief smile. 'Consider it an apology for my mistreatment of you.'

Her brow furrowed. 'An… apology?'

He shifted slightly and cleared his throat. 'I understand you were rather hurt by my deception.'

She felt her heart fall into the vicinity of her stomach. Pity and regret. That's all this was; a way to soothe his guilt for lying to her. Blinded by the ache in her heart, she took a step back and hardened her expression.

'I don't want your pity gifts,' she spat. The rational part of her mind screamed at her for letting pride win and losing out on her dream career as a pathologist. But unfortunately, the rational part of her mind was not as loud as the prideful, and she dutifully obeyed the irrational desire to throw the coat at him. 'I don't want to _ease_ your pathetic excuse for a conscience. And I don't want to see you again!'

He caught the coat against his chest, his mouth wide open in disbelief. Suddenly, his brow furrowed in anger and he pointed his finger at her accusingly. 'You are completely irrational! I begged, _begged_ , my brother for this, going so far as to promise to take our parents to the theatre,' the way his face screwed up in horror at the very mention of the term was almost enough to make her laugh, 'and you think I did this out of _pity?!_ I'm condemned to a lifetime of Sundays attending _The Mousetrap_ with my _parents!'_

She blinked in surprise at the forceful way he spoke, taking a step back as he grew more agitated and raked his hand through his curls after he chucked the coat to the ground.

'It figures this wouldn't work. I'm not educated in the ways of courting, I don't know how to apologize or be gentlemanly and woo you. You're not a simpering, romantic fool, and I knew you wouldn't accept the generic groveling. But clearly your pride is so great, you will not accept any form of apology,' he growled, his frustration rising.

'Now wait just a min-' Molly tried to interrupt indignantly, but Sherlock plowed on.

'Forgive me for thinking the woman I love would appreciate the gift of learning and enlightenment rather than the cliché bouquet of flowers,' he bellowed, throwing his hands out to the sides.

'The woman you…' She breathed, trailing off in astonishment. _He can't possibly mean what I think he said._

Too enraged in frustration and defeat, Sherlock missed the widening of her eyes as she gaped at him. 'Well, you will be pleased to _learn_ , Miss Hooper, that you have succeeded in your endeavor and I shall leave you be from now on.'

He whipped around in a fury, the tails of his coat billowing behind him.

 _The woman he loves?!_ Unable to comprehend the full meaning at the moment, Molly knew she couldn't let him leave, not like this. Her heart racing, but her mouth not cooperating, she lunged across the table and pressed the emergency deadlock on the lab doors just as Sherlock pulled on the handle. He frowned at the resistance and turned around to glare at her.

Molly met his angry frown with a timid smile. _Please, please, please._

Slowly, an answering grin spread across his face as realization dawned on him.

He let go of the handle and stepped toward her, uncertainly hopeful. A bubble rose in her chest and burst out her mouth in a giggle. His answering laugh shook her to her core and he rushed over to her and swept her into his arms, pressing his face into her neck and swinging her around. Squealing a bit in surprise, Molly found herself laughing into the collar of his thick coat, the thrill of being in his strong arms overloading her senses, making her feel a bit lightheaded.

Setting her down, Sherlock brushed a piece of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. 'Hello.'

'Hi,' she replied, biting her lip to hold back her smile. They wouldn't have a normal relationship, not with her love of morbidity and his disdain for average humans. Not to mention, they'd already been on several dates; only this time, with no lies between them, maybe they wouldn't stop at 3.

And from the way his beautiful eyes softened as his gaze flitted over her face and the stutter of her heart at the warm press of his lips against hers, she knew no amount of dates would be sufficient.


End file.
